who did i think we were
by ohmytheon
Summary: It's not the first time he's had a violent intrusive thought before and it won't be the last, Madness-induced or not. It is, however, the first time that he's had a violent thought focused on Marie. (Or, Stein attempts to deal with a particularly vicious bout of Madness on an otherwise innocuous day.)


**Author's Notes:** I was not planning on writing any fanfiction for a fandom other than FMA for the longest time - maybe not ever - but then Soul Eater came up on my to-watch list and I read a thousand fics after I finished the anime in four days. Who knows if I'll ever write any more. This was just something bubbling in my head. The arc about Stein dealing with Madness really got to me and captured my attention. That's lowkey one of my all-time favorite tropes. And I love Marie so much and their very unconventional relationship. This is what I get for reading all of DollyPop's fantastic and brilliant Stein/Marie fics. I'm not sure if the warnings apply, but I figured I would put them on in case. Just some violent imagery and thoughts.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing at all except for my tears.

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( **who did i think we were** )

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 _What would it feel like to wrap his fingers around her throat?_

The thought drifts hazily into his mind and he blinks. It's certainly not the first time that he's had a violent intrusive thought before and it most definitely will not be the last, Madness-induced or not. It is, however, the first time that he's had a violent thought focused on Marie.

Balling his hands into fists at his sides, he stares unseeingly through the crack of the door into the area that she transformed into a living room. He's mad and madder and maddening, bits of hip slipping through the cracks into the Madness with every passing day. Even before the Kishin was released and the Madness began to seep over the world, he had his predilections towards violence and a suspicious lack of empathy, as the doctors would say.

He likes unraveling things - be them technology, animals, or even people - and he thinks that if he could just unspool one person, maybe then, he would find some desperate moment of relief. He could breathe again. It makes him think back to the days when he and Spirit were partners as students at the DWMA. Spirit was like a breath of fresh air in more ways than one, although it took him a while to figure out one of those ways. He doesn't regret those nights of stolen research.

His fingers itch for that feeling again, crave to rip someone apart at the seams, tear them stitch by stitch, until their soul is bared open, vulnerable and fluttering in his hands.

He watches as Marie tilts her head to the side while she reads on the couch. The action causes her hair to spill to the side and bare her neck. His eyes rake over the exposed pale skin of her throat, marking where her pulse point lies. He licks his lips. How delicious would it be to bite down right there and taste her blood on his tongue? She has such a slim, delicate throat; he's sure that he would only need one hand to grasp it. He can't help but picture wrapping his long fingers around that pretty, little throat and looking into her eye. Would she blink at him in fear? Or with understanding?

(It's the latter that cuts him the most, like a wound that he can't suture. Why does she look at him like that? Why can't she fear him like everyone else? She should be terrified of him. She should run away and never come back. She should leave this place. She should live him, as everyone else has done before. Why won't she look at him like he's the monster that he is? It doesn't make any sense.)

Although Lord Death partnered them up for very specific reasons and she had nowhere else to stay, many people are baffled by Marie's insistence to live with him. She hadn't even blinked at the idea. She only did when she arrived at his place and lamented on his lack of furniture. Azusa thinks that maybe Marie's willingness to live with him - to trust him - is a sign of the Madness affecting her. He's almost inclined to agree with the woman, what with the way that Marie exposes herself to him day in and day out.

The last Weapon that slept under the same roof as him was opened up at night and experimented on. And that was before the Kishin was released and years of self-driven solitude.

And yet she does time and time again. She never locks the door to the bedroom or bathroom. She sleeps with him in the same building, unguarded and vulnerable to attack. His heart skips a beat when he remembers just how small and fragile she looks when she's asleep, so much like glass that could be shattered. He nearly stops breathing when he thinks of the tinkling of water and her singing in the shower, naked and exposed, just an unlocked door in between them. He never related to Spirit's perpetual lust until that moment, except it was bloodlust and he was so thirsty, so parched, and all he wanted was a taste of her fear.

Spirit told her over lunch last week that she should invest in a deadbolt or two, but she just laughed and brushed the comment off. _"Stein would never hurt me,"_ he heard her say as he walked past the break room. He doesn't understand why it felt like a punch to the gut. Most people would say that trust is a good thing. So why then does it hurt?

He wants to buy the locks and install them himself, even though he knows that they would be worthless. What's a door to a Meister like him? He can break through anything easily enough, through anyone. He knows how to break things apart, break them down, break them into tiny, irreparable pieces. He could do that to her. He could drag her to Hell with him. He wants - he wants so badly - he wants-

Marie sighs gently as she flips the page of the book, completely absorbed in the words before her. She wouldn't even notice him if he crept up behind her. She wouldn't hear him, couldn't see him as he knew the scope of her blind spot, until she felt his hands clasp around her throat. She would gasp, stiffen under his unbidden touch, squirm to look up at him. He doesn't know if he wants her to look at him or not. She might break his resolve, his need, his desperate ache to give in.

She's too kind. Too trusting. She should be on guard around him at all times. The fact that they allowed him this much freedom is probably a mistake that he doesn't feel like correcting. Not when it already feels like the walls are closing in on him and he's drowning half the time in darkness.

He could squeeze the life right out of her until the light fades from her eyes and he has no light left in his life. Without her, he would be in complete darkness. Sometimes he craves that, craves to be shut off from the world and lost in his mind, but he never begrudges Marie for being the light at the end of the tunnel. He only wonders what the world would be like without light, just as he once wondered what it would be like without a God.

It would be so easy to do. He could see what that was like. A new experiment. No light, no light.

He inches forward, each step quiet and halted. He barely breathes. Her throat looks so inviting. To bite down on - mix her blood with the heavy taste of smoke in his mouth. It reminds him of after he defeated Medusa and idly smoked a cigarette as her blood rained down on him. Such a soothing, maddening smell, iron and smoke, both thick and sticky. He could never quite get those smells out of his lab coat. Marie is kind and brilliantly bright and so good; her blood must taste sweeter than Medusa's.

Without thinking, he lifts his hands in the air, reaching out towards Marie, and they are trembling with undeniable desire, with desperation, with fear.

 _I want her,_ he thinks deliriously, brimming with so much desire that his entire body begins to shake.. _I want her to-_

Gasp? Scream? Writhe in pain? He wants her to look at him the proper way. He wants her to see him the way he sees himself.

He's not good, not like she insists. He's bad and mad and always has been. She must know this. She knows his soul, after all, has entwined her own with his so many times before. He nearly staggers at the thought of soul resonating with her as he holds her life in his hands. What would that feel like? To feel her soul flicker out as he held onto it? He must know. It's for the good of science. He needs to know. He experimented on Spirit before to understand Weapons. Marie is such good woman. She would be his willing subject, if he required it of her. It wouldn't be the first time she has put her life in his hands. It could be her last.

His heart jams wildly in his chest, blood thumping in his ears, as he comes to a stop behind her. She's so close that he can smell her. She smells like petrichor; she looks like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a storm. He wants that darkness again. All he has to do is snuff out her light. Such a beautiful light, her soul is, glowing tenderly in her chest, radiating warmth and peace that his mind fights against. He wants to cradle it, sink his fingers into it, cut slivers of it until there is nothing left for him to hold. He imagines digging into her skull, her empty eye socket, with his bare fingers and pull her soul right out of her.

Her soul is as delicate-looking as her throat, glowing golden rays of light. He wants it. He wants it so bad. Her soul has always been the brightest soul that he has ever seen. It's more light than he deserves. How can it be so bright? What is it about her that makes her soul so special? He wants to find out.

 _Can a person dissect a soul?_

If anyone can, it is him. He's a scientist, after all.

Marie tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. He watches the movement greedily, taking note of her slim wrist that peeks out when her sleeve falls down for a moment. He would only need one hand to hold both of her wrists. She has such a large, bright, powerful soul for someone so small. In the back of his mind, from the time that he first met her, he has always known that she is attractive. It's not a compliment coming from him, just a simple observation. For him, her soul is a part of that conclusion. It never falters like others' do. He wonders what it would take to cause her soul to flutter?

He has to know. Because he wants her, he wants the darkness, he wants to climb into the belly of the beast and breathe in the black blood, to go where he truly belongs, to be free free free. He has to find out. Because he is her Meister. Because he needs to know her soul inside and out. It's the only thing keeping him somewhat sane, and he needs to know _why_.

Why is she doing this? Why won't she look at with fear? Why doesn't her soul shutter away from his? Why does she gaze at him like she feels safe with him? Why does she care? Why? What kind of soul would care about someone like him?

His hands hover behind her head. He could brush her hair away from her neck. He could snap her neck or take his time until she can't breathe anymore. Let her drift away and then come back. He could do anything to her.

He was her Meister. She was his Weapon to wield.

She was his.

He wants her. He wants her to -

His. His Weapon.

Why doesn't she fear him? Why does her gentle soul wavelengths lap over his like a cool ocean wave?

His Marie. His. His Marie.

Stein freezes and blinks. His hands stop shaking with tremors. He stops breathing. Maybe his heart stops too, if only for a moment. He was her Meister and Meisters took care of their Weapons, but it occurred to him that while he had made sure to do general upkeep with Spirit back when they had been partners, he never particularly cared for the man. Oh, they were friends now in the loosest sense of the term, let bygones be bygones, all that. But the concept of caring for another person was beyond him. Is beyond him?

Because she is his Weapon, but more importantly, she is his Marie and he doesn't know what to think of that.

The Madness slips away into the recesses of his mind. Horror creeps inside his mind in its place. His hands drop to his side again. He has never had a violent thought towards Marie for as long as he's known her. He's fought and injured and torn apart so many people, some of them she would insist that he truly did care for even if he didn't think himself capable of it all the time - but never once her, never her.

She is untouchable. She is glass that is not to be broken. She is light that cannot be hidden away. There are a lot of things that Stein would do that shattered the line of moral ambiguity, but hurting Marie is absolutely forbidden.

It's been a long time since he has been afraid of himself, even with this new wave of Madness slowly overcoming him, and even longer since he has felt disgust. It tastes like ash. It tastes like himself. The Madness could take him away, it could drag him under and smother him, it could bring him to death - but he refuses to let it hurt her. Anyone but her, his Marie. He swears he will die before he allows it to take her light away from the world, though he knows it's an empty promise. When he finally succumbs to it, the Madness is not like to care about what he wanted from before.

He wonders if a tiny part of him will scream and try to rebel should the day ever come that he loses himself to his insanity and moves to harm Marie - or if he will be too far gone to even whisper a protest.

The moment he lifts his hand to crank at the bolt in his head, twisting it three times until a spark of pain causes him to take in a deep breath, Marie notices him at least. She tilts her head back to look up at him upside, a smile sliding onto her face. She smiles like the sun. Her soul practically warms at the sight of him, her Healing Wavelength carefully caressing his soul and mind. No one has ever been careful with him. It's a wonder that she still is even knowing all that he has done and all that he could do.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks him.

Stein rolls his eyes back to the bedroom. He's not used to a bed, spending most of his nights slumped over his desk on his favorite, broken-in chair. It's not...unpleasant though. He finds himself in odd places in his lab during the day, unable to control where he collapses at times, but since moving in with him, Marie has made sure that he always goes to the bed at night. He sometimes finds himself in other places upon waking up, his computer the only consistent spot, but starting at the same place every night has been...effective.

"I made breakfast and tea," Marie says, even though he never outright answered her question. She took the glance as an answer, somehow knowing exactly what he was thinking without him having to say it. Good Meister and Weapon partners are able to understand one another; excellent ones are able to read each other. Marie is a very good reader and he can see her soul. This has always been easy for them. "And don't think you can get out of eating. I know you didn't eat dinner last night."

"Sorry," Stein tells her, not really sorry and not altogether concerned that she knows, "I'm sure it was delicious."

Marie sighs. "It was actually terrible. I burnt it. Consider yourself lucky you didn't eat."

A faint grin twitches onto his lips. For all her skills, she has never been a great cook, but his Marie always tries for better and never gives up. His soul eases under her care. She never gives up, not on anything or anyone - and never on him. He does consider himself lucky and also greedy as he soaks up the wavelengths of her soul even while knowing that it exhausts her at times. No matter what people say about him, no matter what he thinks about himself, she refuses to give up on him even when he wants to give up. She holds him up when he feels ready to fall down in a black hole.

He doesn't thank her for the food or her soothing presence; he doesn't tell her that he appreciates all that she is doing for him; he doesn't apologize for taking and taking and taking from her when he can give nothing in return. Instead he locks his gaze on her eye and reaches out for her with a steady hand and softly brushes hair that fell over her eyepatch, his calloused fingertips lightly grazing her skin. He doesn't say a word. Neither does she. Her chest rises and falls as she takes measured breaths, eye focused on his two. His fingers drift over her ear and then down her neck, barely even a touch.

Her soul doesn't jitter. There is no fear in her eye, no terror in her upward gaze, only trust and something else he's not sure he can identify. It's not love, but it's something similar, he thinks. He doesn't know what love is, but he knows Marie. He's not one for poetry and certainly not one for sweet gestures, but he's capable of recognizing beauty or at least acknowledging it and the openness on Marie's face is something that should be admired. No one has ever looked at him like this before. Genuine acceptance and a promise to always be here for him.

He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve her. He probably deserves to be swallowed up by the Madness, chewed up into useless mush, and then spit out to be discarded like a broken toy. But Marie won't give up and she won't let him go so easily. She keeps tinkering with him, so sure that she can hold the darkness at bay. He's willing to let her try for as long as she wants. He's willing to be her patient. It makes her happy.

And that is what he wants. He wants her to be happy. It's a strange thought, an even more foreign feeling, but he clings to it as tightly as he does his sanity, stringing the two of them together. For now, it's enough. And when it isn't, well, he's not sure he can live in a world without her light.


End file.
